


Red Brick

by rickoconnells (apogenisis)



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Canon Trans Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Jacob Frye/Ned Wynert - Freeform, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Slow Burn, Wye
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-19 23:35:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5984833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apogenisis/pseuds/rickoconnells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Evie teaches Ned how to fight - Jacob watches, waits, and grows attached.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Brick

Ned Wynert had never been a man who envied. Covet? Sure, he'd coveted plenty. His beady-eyed avarice had made him the stinking rich man he was today – a man who was the envy of plenty, but never had the need to feel the emotion himself.

Until he met the Frye twins. Evie Frye, specifically. 

Ned was used to other men being bigger than him, taller than him, stronger than him. It's why he was quick. He had to be. When you can't take a punch, you have to learn to dodge. But the women around him usually had the decency to be small, slight, and usually trussed up in forty layers of dainty lace. Evie Frye was not. She was muscle, and sinew, and half a foot taller than him at least. She was quick like he was, and surreptitious. A fellow child of darkness. But unlike Ned, she was built like iron. He had always thought her bulk was down in part to layers of knife-friendly, practical clothing, but during a visit to one of Robert Topping's boxing matches he'd seen her stripped down, destroying everything that entered her path like the freight trains he so often frequented. He knew Jacob could murder him with a flick of the wrist, but he'd always thought of Evie as being the more delicate of the two. The crunch of bone under her fists at that boxing match made him think otherwise. 

That's what led him to her carriage, bright and early on a Sunday morning. Well, Jacob's carriage more specifically. Ned pretended to himself he'd miscounted (for the first time in his life) as the train pulled in to Whitechapel station, but in reality he'd wanted to give himself an out. He was about to owe Evie a debt, and it would be a lot easier to just play the whole thing off as a visit to Jacob. Unfortunately, but not surprisingly, Jacob, who was continually everywhere Ned didn't need him, was nowhere to be found when he was wanted. Ned steeled himself and headed for Evie's carriage, pausing only when he tripped over something important-looking that Jacob had left on the floor beside a half finished almond cake that had very clearly been trod on at least twice. Three times, once Ned had rebalanced himself. 

His arrival at Evie's carriage coincided with her wrenching the door open, coat half on, a mouthful of half chewed bread. Ned stumbled backwards in shock, only to be caught in one swift movement by the upper arm, suspended over the gap between the carriages. 

“Mr Wynert!”

She'd even managed to finish putting on her coat while she caught him. 

“Mr Wynert, are you hurt? I am incredibly sorry, I had no idea you -”

Ned raised a quieting hand. “I'm fine Miss Frye, thanks to your quick reflexes. That's actually why I'm here, I -” He paused, wondering how to word it. Evie looked at him blankly, letting a beat of dead silence fall before remembering her manners. 

“Do come in, Mr Wynert, please. I was on my way out, I'm afraid, so I shan't be able to stay to talk for long. Have you a new shipment arriving?”

Ned moved past her into the carriage, standing awkwardly in near the fire place while Evie struggled to close the door, eventually giving up when it was two thirds closed and turning to smile at Ned expectantly. There was another beat of silence, only Ned didn't hear it over the screaming panic in his own head.  
“Mr Wynert?”

“Huh? Oh, Miss.... Miss Frye, I have a.... a favour, I guess, to ask of you.”

“A favour?” Evie's eyes lit up. “I thought you weren't keen on owing any favours?”

“I don't.”

Evie dropped into the chair by her desk, interested now. “So this must be quite the favour.”

Ned let out a little puff of air. “I want you to teach me how to fight.”

He was met by a chuckle. “You know how to fight, Mr Wynert! I've seen you!”

“Yeah, I can fight, but not like – not like you can fight. I can drop a few punches and get out of a fight real quick. I'm not a scrapper, not like you and Jacob. Those Blighters are getting bigger, and I need to be able to really hold my own, they're coming after me in droves now, since you two diamonds started... redistributing their cargo shipments. I can't always have protection, and I can't always manage a one-two-run.”

Ned realised with a start that he'd not only been rambling, but ended up perched on the end of Evie's bed. This fact was seemingly not lost on Evie, who suddenly looked very serious. “Meet me at Topping's boxing club this evening. In The Strand. I should be finished up my research by around eight. Perhaps wear something you wont regret ruining.” She stood, and affectionately rapped on the top of Ned's hat, her laugh surprisingly warm. “And don't worry, Mr Wynert. I'll go easy on you.”

 

==================================================

 

The boxing club that Topping had repurposed was, for the first time in Ned's memory, completely deserted. It stunk worse than the docks on a sunny day, and Evie was, predictably, there before him, stripped of her assassins accoutrements, wrapping her hands. She paused when she felt Ned's gaze following her movements. 

“Habit, Mr Wynert. Don't worry. I'll wait in the ring until you're ready.”

Ned shrugged off his jacket, tentatively removing his shirt. His undershirt was deliberately looser than he would generally wear, and he could feel the sweat beading on the back of his neck already as Evie lifted the ropes for him, beckoning him into the ring. If she noticed his discomfort, she did not react to it, tucking her arms behind her back and offering him a reassuring smile before setting her shoulders. She suggested sparring for a while, to get a feel for how Ned fought. She'd landed three blows within half a minute. 

“Hit me.”

Evie paused, pulling back. “What?”

“Hit me. Hit me hard, really – like you'd hit someone you were really fighting. I know when I'm being lied to, Miss Frye. My livelihood depends on it.”

“I don't want to hurt you, Mr Wynert.”

Ned let out a small scoff, which was met in turn by a barely noticeable flick of Evie's eyebrow. He hit the ground so fast he didn't even see the it coming up on him, his body making a hollow thud as it connected with the boxing ring floor. It took a few seconds for the air to return to his lungs, and when he rolled onto his back and looked up, he was met with an extended hand, and Evie Frye's infamously sweet smile. He allowed her to help him up, chagrined.

“I get your point, Miss Frye,” he muttered, dusting himself off and holding up his hands in mock surrender. “And I wholeheartedly apologise for doubting you.”

“You'll be able to absorb that by the time we're finished Mr. Wynert. When father was teaching myself and Jacob to fight I also spent a lot of time picking myself up off the floor. The first time Jacob landed a blow that didn't knock me over I felt I was invincible.”

Ned stopped short. “Your father made you and Jacob fight each other?”

“It was training, Mr Wynert, that's all. You can get a lot more done when you and your sparring partner have bedrooms at opposite ends of a corridor. Plus, fight clubs tend to look down on the attendance of children, as Miss Clara O'Dea will no doubt attest.”

Ned didn't push her further, sensing that Evie was never going to see an issue with her father's actions. He was beginning to understand, however, why Jacob's shoulders tensed whenever anyone mentioned legendary assassin Ethan Frye. No one wants to beat up their big sister at their father's behest. Evie cleared her throat, pulling his attention back to the here and now.

“I'd like you to punch me now, Mr Wynert. As hard as you can. As if it was to save your life.”

“Miss Frye! No!”

“Mr Wynert, your delicate sensibilities just landed you on the floor. Surely you're not worried about hurting me?”

Ned acquiesced, raising his fists. He wheeled back, channelling every atom of strength he had into his shoulders, down his arm, and into his fist. He landed the blow squarely on Evie's left shoulder, and disappointingly, she took only a small step backwards.

“That was good, Mr Wynert.”

“You barely moved!”

“Yes. But I moved, which means you're stronger than I thought.”

Ned felt the heat as it rose to his cheeks at the compliment, and cursed himself for being so easily flattered. He'd developed an affinity for the Fryes during their partnership. They were more deadly, more brutal, than any criminals he'd chosen to deal with before – Adam, in fact, had warned him against making the alliance. But when they came bounding up to him with news of their first shipment commandeered in his name, Jacob practically vibrating, Evie going so far as to allow herself a grin, he almost immediately formed an attachment despite his better judgement. He puffed out his chest in mock pride. 

“Thanks, kid.”

Evie tucked in her chin, setting him with faux-serious consternation. “Don't forget Mr Wynert, I can still kill you.”

“We both know I make you guys too much money,” Ned laughed, dropping back on his hip and raising his fists again. “So c'mon, make sure I live long enough to keep you flush in fancy books to pore over with Mr Green.”

It was Evie's turn to flush, now, clearing her throat and letting out a small, half-choked noise, prickly heat rising up her neck. Above them, legs slung over a beam, coat cast to one side after a long day, Jacob Frye let out a low chuckle. His life-long habit of following Evie the minute he knew she was up to something she didn't want him to know about had once again paid dividends, this time in a sweaty Ned Wynert, and a sizeable bruise to his sister's ego.


End file.
